


Enchanté

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fae & Fairies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach visits his oldest friends.  Chris is curious.  Magic ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enchanté

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "off with the fairies" square of my [](http://trek-crackbingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**trek_crackbingo**](http://trek-crackbingo.livejournal.com/) card. Thanks to [](http://brytewolf.livejournal.com/profile)[brytewolf](http://brytewolf.livejournal.com/) for the well-timed nudge. Beta'd by [](http://emmessann.livejournal.com/profile)[emmessann](http://emmessann.livejournal.com/). Couplet stolen from Shakespeare is stolen from Shakespeare.

By the time Zach gets in from New York he’s desperate. He’s never had to go so long without before, and even though he hasn’t collapsed in a screaming heap just yet he can’t deny that the long months of abstinence have taken a toll on him. He’s lost weight, he’s gotten snippy, and he’s very, very tired.

It hadn’t helped, knowing that there was a place he could go for the solace he sought, right there in Manhattan, only it was in a notoriously bad part of town and he wouldn’t just be risking his career but his personal safety if he surrendered to temptation.

But he’s back now, he reminds himself sternly, before asking the cab driver to wait. All he has to do is hang on a little longer, keep it together, do the calm, capable, adult thing a little longer. He shoulders his pack, hauls his suitcase out of the trunk and trudges, thus encumbered, along the path and up the steps, going through the motions automatically until he’s able to dump his stuff inside his own familiar apartment. He mumbles some kind of greeting to Joe and Chris, not really sure why the latter is here but too drained to be surprised, wrenches open the hall closet to locate his oldest yoga mat, then jogs back out to the cab and climbs in. The driver pulls out, and Zach belatedly remembers to give him the street name.

***

Kibby scolds him for not having visited the ring in New York. They’re her friends, she says. They would have taken very good care of Friend Zach.

Zach doesn’t mind being told off. It’s so calming to be here, sitting on his yoga mat, leaning back against the old tree, Kibby standing on her bare tiptoes on his upraised knee stroking his stubble with her tiny, chitinous hands.

“I did miss you,” he murmurs. “I ached.”

Kibby tips her head back, makes a rapid clicking sound, and presently others begin to glide down out of the tree, silent on their sparkling, translucent wings, to alight all around him.

“You’ve grown thin,” says Andin, who always seems to be more alert to mundane things than most of Zach’s forest friends.

He doesn’t really have an answer for that. It’s true. He hasn’t been taking good care of himself. The play had absorbed so much of his energy there was little left for caring about whether or not he’d eaten enough, or slept enough. And he’d had only his human friends for support. They tried, but they couldn't revitalise him the way his fairy folk could.

Zach sighs, moves away from the tree to stretch out, most of him on his mat but his bare feet on the dry, fragrant leaf litter. Kibby keeps her balance adroitly, as if she were a surfer and Zach a wave. She winds up sitting on his chest, feet dangling over the edge of his torso. His friends come closer, then, arranging themselves in a neat arc around him. They chatter of nothing much, just forest gossip, but it’s enough. It connects him to the community again, makes him feel whole. The energy of the forest, the trees, and the fairies begins to flow into him once more after so long, and slowly, so slowly, his exhaustion and stress and worry begin to melt away.

***

“What the fuck, man?” Chris demands, virtually the second Zach manages to stumble in, having had to leave the ring much sooner than he would have liked or risk Joe’s wrath. “Are you on _drugs_?”

It’s strangely baffling to hear someone so Hollywood sound so shocked at that prospect. Zach shakes his head harder than he needs to in an attempt to clear the cobwebs. “No drugs. And it’s nice to see you, too, Chris. What are you doing in my house?”

“Joe said I could wait.”

Zach blinks. He’s too tired for an argument over whether that actually constituted an answer and not merely a response. And he _has_ missed Chris. So he opts for a hug instead, the quiet, non-sexual, non-macho, pure-essence-of-hug type of hug. Chris makes a surprised sound but then just goes with it, to Zach’s relief.

“Missed you,” he whispers. It’s amazing how good Chris smells. Sometimes he wishes he were allowed to do more than hug Chris Pine.

“You look like hammered shit.”

“Yes,” Zach agrees dutifully.

“How about you go lie down on the couch? Dinner’s under control. Joe’s walking Noah—we can eat when they get back.”

The strangled little sound that emerges from Zach’s throat is alien to him, unrecognisable. “Noah,” he breathes. Tears threaten, prickly and warm.

Chris pushes him back far enough to apply that frank blue-eyed scrutiny to his face. “Seriously, man. Go, rest. Let your bestest bud and your big bro take care of you.”

“Okay,” Zach says. It takes him two attempts to let go of Chris. But he deeply approves of the resting plan.

***

Zach wakes to the sounds of hushed conversation. He struggles free of the blanket someone had laid over him, gets up off the couch and totters over towards the voices.

“—honestly,” Joe is saying. “He’ll be fine. He’s just tired. Really tired. He’s been away a long time. Needs to recharge.”

“You’re sure that’s all it is?”

“Absolutely. He just needs to get grounded. But, hey, stay with him if you’re worried.”

“Yeah, that might be—” At this point, Chris Pine notices Zach. “Oh, hi. Have a nice sleep?”

It’s hard to fight his compulsive yawn at the mention of sleep. “Yeah. What’s for dinner?” He half-hugs, half leans on Joe, who is conveniently just standing around while Chris is hard at work loading the dishwasher (which involves much bending down, and so is very entertaining).

“Tomato soup, made from scratch. And I baked bread. The kind you like, with the nuts.”

Zach hums. “Knew I kept you around for something.”

Joe swats him good-naturedly. Chris looks faintly curious, and Zach supposes he’s wondering what it would have been like to have a much older sibling. Or a brother.

Then Noah comes bounding in, tail going at around 78 rpm, and Zach is pleasantly distracted for some time crouching down to hug his warm body close and apologise for ever leaving him.

They eat, and it’s exquisite. He’s missed home cooking—he just didn’t have the energy for it during his work on _Angels_ —and this truly is good food. The company isn’t bad, either. Chris is as bouncy and puppy-like as ever, full of enthusiasm for all the theatrical tales he can wring out of Zach. He seems happy enough to take over the burden of the conversation, though, when he eventually twigs that Zach’s heart isn’t in it right now.

“Chris wants to stay and babysit,” Joe says, as he’s leaving. Chris glares adorably at this.

There’s something slightly odd in the air between them after that, but it’s not until he’s stripped down to his boxers, sleepily brushing his teeth, and Chris starts making noises about wanting to share his bed (the couch is _so_ fashionable and narrow, and he’ll be _no_ trouble, honest!) that Zach really begins to wonder…

If Chris Pine _did_ happen to have some hitherto unsuspected bisexual leanings… and if he _did_ happen to be attracted to the likes of Zachary J. Quinto… would he actually be foolish enough to think _this_ an ideal time to start suggesting as much?

On reflection, Zach decides that Chris Pine just possibly _is_ that foolish.

On the other hand, he always sleeps better with company. He frowns as he tries to decide.

“Come on, man,” says Chris, leaning one arm against the bathroom doorway. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

Zach is having trouble keeping his eyes open long enough to glare at him in the mirror. So he spits, rinses, shoves his toothbrush in the general direction of its holder. Pushes past Chris and trudges over to collapse on his bed. “That was different,” he announces, into a pillow.

“Oh?” He can almost hear Chris racking his brain. It sounds kind of like tiny metal cogs grinding together.

“On that occasion, I was well enough to fight off your lustful advances.”

There’s a pause, and then Chris is laughing it off. Zach kicks futilely at the comforter, wanting very much to be under it. He’s pleased when there’s a click and the room goes dark except for the little bedside reading lamp. Next comes the rustle of fabric as Chris shucks his clothes. Then weight on the mattress, and strong, capable hands rolling him, pulling the comforter free, tucking them both in.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Zach can only mumble something uncomplimentary.

“Okay. Goodnight, Zach.”

Another click, and all is dark beyond Zach’s eyelids. He listens to the rustles and spring creakings of Chris getting comfortable, and to the night sounds of the world beyond his open window. It’s nice, knowing he isn’t alone. But it doesn’t feed and nurture him the way his other friends do. He falls asleep planning another trip to the woods in the morning.

***

Zach wakes to a feeling of ethereal peace. He’s on his side, with a warm body pressed against his back and a heavy arm across his ribs. The room is quiet, with a faint, crisp chill that makes him want to haul the covers up to his chin.

“Hello, Kibby,” he breathes, even before he opens his eyes. When he does she’s there, the beat of her wings rapid and staccato as she hovers right in his line of sight. “You don’t normally visit.”

She giggles, puts a finger to her lips. Zach guesses the others do not know she has ventured so far out into the dangerous human realm. “Hold out your hand,” she says. Zach does. She drops something small, hard, and round into his palm. A pebble? “From the stream,” she says. “It will hold some of my magic, for a time. Keep it close, and it will drain into you. Return it to us when you come again.”

Zach nods, as solemnly as he’s able while lying down. His fingers close around the small stone, and it _tingles_ , slowly filling him with calm. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I’ll try to come back tomorrow. I’ve been away too long, it hurts.”

Kibby nods sadly. “If only you could have communed with our kin in your New York City.”

“Yeah. It just wasn’t pract—”

Some sudden movement or sound clues them in that Chris is awake. A chill runs up Zach’s spine.

“Shall I make him forget?” Kibby hisses, raising one tiny hand in preparation.

“No,” Zach replies at once. He doesn’t want Chris’s mind messed with, no matter how awkward it might be that he now knows Zach’s secret. It’s an emotive decision rather than a reasoned one, but he decides he can live with that. “No, thank you. But maybe you should go now?”

Kibby performs her inexplicably graceful trademark mid-air curtsey, and then she’s gone out the window in a blur of silvery light.

For a moment, all Zach can hear is his own breathing.

Then Chris clears his throat. “Um, was the secret ingredient in Joe’s special soup LSD, or did I just see a—well, a—you know—”

“Fairy,” Zach supplies helpfully.

“A fairy in your room?”

“Some might say that the presence of one or more fairies in my room is nothing out of the—”

“Don’t bullshit me, man. It’s truth time.”

Zach sighs, recognising the tone which never fails to remind him that Christopher Whitelaw Pine is one stubborn bastard. Attempting to roll over is fruitless because of the said stubborn bastard’s stubborn grip. “If I promise to take you to meet them tomorrow—assuming they’re willing to be seen, of course—can we sleep now?”

“What if they don’t want to be seen?”

Zach clutches the precious pebble tighter. “Then you can interrogate me over coffee, and I’ll answer.”

Chris makes a satisfied noise, and snuggles even closer. “Okay. Sleep.” He yawns hugely.

Zach pauses only to spare a thought for Kibby, attempting to fly home safely without being seen, then relaxes into his friend’s embrace and permits himself to fall into sleep.

***

Zach wakes up feeling like the filling in a morning wood sandwich. His own erection seems unusually insistent, but perhaps that’s because it’s been so long since he’s had to worry much about his libido. Pine’s similarly exuberant erection shifts slightly against Zach's butt with each breath.

He attempts to slide free, but those strong arms tighten around him. _Okay. Guess he’s awake, then._ Zach keeps the pebble safely concealed in his hand, hoping, perhaps selfishly, that Chris will decide that anything he might remember from last night was just a dream. That he had but slumber’d here, while these visions did appear…

“Morning, Pine. Are you going to let me go jerk off, or were you planning to do that for me?”

He’s released at once. And just like that, he’s sure about the previously only hypothetical bisexual leanings. And it really shouldn’t be so amusing, he knows. It’s just… Chris’s apparent confusion about his sexuality brings up all kinds of awkward teenage memories that can inspire only laughter or tears. Zach drops his legs over the side of the bed, sits up carefully. Stretches his arms before rising. Wonders idly whether Chris is watching his ass as he crosses the room. Zach might not have the best ass in the room, but he knows it’s not half bad, either.

He hears Chris clear his throat. “We could, um…”

But by this time Zach is stepping into the bathroom, and it seems like doing anything other than pretending he didn’t hear would be making A Big Thing out of it.

_Speak up sooner next time, Pine._

Zach doesn’t start out thinking about Chris as he pumps his cock in the shower, relishing the slick, slow slide, but he sees no reason to feel guilty when his fantasies abruptly swerve in that direction. Chris is, after all, a beautiful specimen of humanity, even if he can be a bit of a douchebag, and he always seems to lap up positive attention even when he’s in shy mode. He doubts Chris is bothered by the thought of people including him in their masturbation fantasies.

Zach’s orgasm, to the thought of sweaty, intense frotting with Chris in some dark corner at a party or on set, is powerful enough to leave him trembly, knees weak. He has to take extra care finishing up his ablutions lest he slip and do himself an injury. But he remembers to rescue the pebble from the soap dish as he’s exiting the cubicle.

When he emerges from the bathroom once more, the house is full of the aroma of coffee. Chris, wearing jeans but no shirt, stands on Zach’s bed gazing thoughtfully out the high window which had facilitated Kibby’s nocturnal visit. Zach notices, then ignores him and starts getting dressed.

Chris visibly vibrates all through breakfast. And asks three times when they can go off to visit the fairies. And, for some reason, puts mustard on his toast. It’s a complete mystery why this all strikes Zach as somehow more adorable than it is annoying.

“You’re driving,” he informs Chris by the door, as he’s trying to wedge the pebble into the front so-called pocket of his skinny jeans.

“Sure, man. Where to?”

***

They’re up late enough to have missed the minor chaos of moms in shiny cars ferrying kids to school, and the park looks mostly free of joggers when they jump the low fence rather than walking up to the entrance proper.

“This way,” Zach says, and heads downhill, towards the woods.

That Christmas-morning feeling hits Zach harder and harder the closer he gets. He’s barely aware of Chris loping along beside him, but he remembers him once they’re safely in the darkness of the woods, close to the place that is his heart’s home. He reaches out an arm to block his friend’s progress.

“Don’t cross the ring,” he murmurs, pointing to the large, near-perfect circle of mushrooms. “Not unless you’re invited. You could sit here. You want the mat?” He offers it, but Chris waves him off.

Zach takes a deep breath, then steps over the fungi and into the circle. Energy crackles across his skin, invigorating, and the pebble seems to pulse like a living thing in his pocket. He retrieves it before bending to lay out his mat beneath the tree. He sits, folds his legs into a comfortable Asana, closes his eyes and opens his mind to the whisper of thoughts, magic, non-human presence.

“Andin. I know you’re here. Must I send my friend away?”

Silence a while. Then comes a flurry of sound, like dry leaves rustling, and Zach opens his eyes to see the small, faintly blue fairy sitting a few feet ahead of him, mirroring his posture.

“His aspect is not unpleasing,” Andin observes, looking at Chris who is crouched on the ground and staring, slack-jawed, right back.

Zach laughs. “From you that’s high praise. What did you say I was? ‘Perhaps not the _most_ ill-favoured wretch I’ve ever had the misfortune to lay mine eyes upon’?”

Andin looks distinctly smug. “It may have been something like that. Your nose is too large, though I suppose you may grow into it, in time.”

Zach smiles. “That’s Chris, by the way. He’s a friend.”

Chris waves a little sheepishly.

“Chris, this is Andin.”

The fairy bows so low that his forehead brushes the ground. Zach wonders whether Chris realises he’s being gently mocked.

“You shared friend Zach’s bed last night, Kibby tells us. One hopes you were suitably… entertaining.”

Zach can’t resist flicking Andin’s wing for that, which earns him an indignant splutter.

Chris Pine really does blush beautifully.

Eventually, Andin appears to decide that the newcomer has passed inspection, and summons the others down out of their hiding places. Zach is soon basking in their presence, feeling tension and tiredness seep inexorably out of him as his friends surround him with their laughter and their love. Chris watches from the sidelines, lying sprawled on his stomach on the ground now, hands supporting chin, all curiosity and watchfulness. And then Kibby goes to him, skipping neatly over the mushroom blockade, and begins poking at various parts of him as if to confirm that he is real. Chris follows her progress, looking utterly mesmerised. Hard not to smile at that.

At length, she urges Chris up and into the circle, then takes the lead role as fifteen fairies briskly chivvy Chris into position sitting beside Zach. Their sides press pleasantly together.

“This one will do splendidly,” Kibby announces at last, fluttering around at head height and clapping her tiny hands. “Thank you for bringing him to meet us. We bless this union.”

And fairy dust is raining down, making both men cough, before Zach can work through his sudden panic and find the words to explain that, yes, he knows fairies mate for life, but Chris isn’t his boyfriend, let alone his soulmate.

_Damn._ This might be a problem.

But, as he relaxes and gets his coughing under control, it occurs to Zach that whatever magic Kibby was pouring over them doesn’t feel manipulative or binding. It just feels pleasant, with a faint and vaguely electrical buzz. Not at all like what the fairy folk of his home ring in Green Tree had used to stop Joe freaking out when he discovered them. Joe had never been the same since; it was as if the magic had made him grow up overnight. He’d never truly yelled at Zach again after that, not once, despite all the stupid things Zach had done as a child while Dad was in the hospital and poor Joe had to babysit.

“That was kinda nice,” Chris says blithely after the mystical precipitation has ceased. “What was it?”

Kibby beams. That’s always a rather scary expression, given the shark-like arrangement of fairy teeth. Zach lays a soothing arm across Chris’s shoulders, stretching his legs out in front of him so he can pull Chris closer against him. It’s tempting to ruffle his hair, but he resists.

“Our blessing,” Kibby says, and then furrows her brow in apparent effort to come up with a translation. “Good magic. To make you strong and fearless, to bring luck to your love.”

“Oh,” Chris says. “Um, thanks.”

They leave soon after that, because Zach knows just enough of the fairies’ language to know that several of the more shy fairies are agitating for Kibby to demand he ‘demonstrate his love’ for Chris. Which is, to say the least, bothersome. And slightly creepy.

Also, he feels much better after this second session with his friends. He’s able to leap to his feet without too much difficulty, and then hauls Chris up too.

“Return soon,” Kibby insists, as Zach hands back her pebble with a murmur of thanks. “Bring this one, if you can.”

Zach blinks. They’ve never shown any interest in meeting his friends, or lovers, or whatever, before. And the fairies of the Pittsburgh ring had been very clear with him that Joe would forget where to find them and Zach was not to show him the way. Perhaps they just really liked Chris? And yet he’d always had the impression that if they didn’t meet you when you were a little kid, they pretty much had no use for you. Whatever. He’ll give it some serious thought later. Right now he has to stop Chris tripping over any of the precious mushrooms. A boy had done that once, long ago, the Pittsburgh fairies had told him sternly, and not only had they made him unable to see them but they’d cursed him with freckles. And not the adorable kind. As a five-year-old, Zach had found that prospect rather frightening.

***

“So,” Chris says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and making no move to start the car, “that was weird.”

“You wanted to meet them.”

“Yeah, man. But… _weird_ , you know?”

It isn’t, really. Not for Zach. “I’ve been visiting the fairies since I was five years old. They helped me get through some rough times.”

“But you didn’t live here then.”

“I did not. But there are rings—groups of fairies—all over the country. All over the world, probably. Even in Pittsburgh.”

“How come the paps don’t catch you coming here?”

Zach smiles. “Magic.”

Chris starts the car and they sit in silence for a while as suburban streets pass them by one after another. They wind up at Chris’s favourite coffee place, and Zach doesn’t argue, just accompanies him in, orders a herbal tea, and wishes he’d had the foresight to bring sunglasses or some other form of disguise.

They sit outside in the sunshine for half an hour, sipping drinks and not talking. It’s all very strange. Even when Chris is in one of his withdrawn moods, he usually talks at least enough to tell you he isn’t in the fucking mood for chitchat, man. This stilted silence is new. He suspects Chris might be composing some kind of speech in his head for the right moment. Eventually, he gives Zach a look, rises without a word, and they go.

***

Zach expects some kind of explosion of pent-up questions or demands or—something the second they get back in the door at his place and finish fending off an excited Noah. Instead, he gets arms around his neck and an eager, fumbling mouth against his own.

“Chris,” he warns, not sure what this is about. The response consists of unintelligible mumbling and a concerted effort at the introduction of tongue.

_Oh, all right, you’ve twisted my arm,_ Zach thinks, in the instant before he slams Chris against the nearest wall and shows him how Zachary Quinto likes to kiss. Yeah, so that means a little more tooth than a lot of guys prefer, but those little moans he’s hearing are certainly not of complaint. Desperation, maybe. Surprise. Overwhelming lust. Whatever, he can work with it.

Chris’s hands are warm and uncertain on his back, not digging in, merely there, then drifting slowly downwards. He touches Zach’s ass softly, almost reverently. Then he grabs, squeezes, and Zach growls his approval as he presses his body more firmly against Chris’s. He’s getting hard here, which is a less than brilliant idea in skinny jeans, but Chris smells and tastes so good and fucking _moans_ so well that it’s impossible to resist. Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop here, for Chris to realise, nope, actually not all that queer, sorry.

But dear Chris currently appears to be more interested in getting his hands down the back of Zach’s jeans—you’re fighting a losing battle there, baby—than in dropping any shoes. So Zach leans back a bit, untucks Chris’s delightfully lurid plaid shirt and starts unbuttoning at the hem. Chris breaks the kiss, panting, and mouths his way down Zach’s neck instead.

“I think I’m high on fairy dust,” Chris says, and laughs against Zach’s collar.

Zach freezes. “If you think your judgement’s impaired, we should—”

“No way. No fucking way I want to stop.”

Well, that’s… vehement. He finishes with the buttons, pulls the shirt open wide. Runs his hands up gloriously smooth, toned abs, over ribs and muscle. Flicks his thumbs at Chris’s nipples and hears just enough of a change in breathing to confirm that this is an area of interest. Nibbles and pinches and is not at all surprised when, a moment later, he’s the one being pressed against the wall having his mouth ravished. And then Chris’s hands are scrabbling against Zach’s crotch, trying to open his fly, almost painful in their fumbling. It seems efficient to break the kiss to help him, and to ask what exactly he wants.

Chris looks at him, tongue darting out in that unconscious way to moisten his lips. “Hadn’t really got far past the image of us rolling around together. Naked.”

Zach’s smirking, he knows it. “Bed? Or couch?”

Chris has to clear his throat before he can answer. “Bed.”

Abruptly released, Zach pads off to his room, very aware of Chris clomping along in his wake, the definiteness of the thump as Chris closes the door.

Intention matters, Zach muses, not for the first time, as he begins discarding clothing. An audience can tell, even if it’s subconscious, when you’re just going through the motions of an on-stage embrace, or when you’re enjoying an angry scene too much. Disbelief is something they reflect back at you. And so is enjoyment. He can feel Chris’s enjoyment as he watches him strip, knows it wasn’t there last night in part because last night Zach did not intend his undressing to be anything more than simply functional. Now, though, he’s aware of wanting to be watched and admired, and it makes his hands shake just a little as he sits to unlace his shoes. When he rises, barefoot, and puts his back to Chris, he bends lower than necessary to escape from his jeans, putting the second-best ass in the room on display. He’s very conscious of being the centre of attention as Chris just stands there, transfixed. Zach might be the one currently removing his very last article of clothing, to let his hard cock bounce free, but he is the one with the power in this room right now. And he likes that.

He sprawls artfully across the bed, gives his cock a leisurely stroke. Directs a _well, what are you waiting for?_ look at Chris, with Spockian eyebrow and all.

Chris swallows visibly, and then starts yanking desperately at his clothes.

“Slow down.” Zach employs his best lazy drawl, and Chris, arms behind his back as he slips off his shirt, gives him a look of such confused lust that it’s impossible to resist giving his dick another stroke.

Christopher Pine is no striptease artist, but Zach considers the performance all the more alluring for its diffidence. Though he does have to laugh when the man kicks off his left Chuck with such force that it careens across the room and slams into the far wall.

“Oops,” Chris says, hopping inelegantly in an effort to remove his second sock. He succeeds, stands up straight once more, looks almost shyly at Zach. Then he unhooks his belt. The shimmy as he slips it free from his belt loops is rather good, but Zach’s distracted from Dance Critic mode by the snicksnicksnick of a zipper.

Chris doesn’t turn his back to wriggle out of his pants. And thank heaven for that, because that first sight of his junk trying to bulge its way out of his boring Calvin Klein briefs is more wonderful than even the sight of that ass could be. And then Chris stares right at him, runs his hands down his admirable chest, reaches into his underwear and lifts out his cock, which he fondles deliberately a moment before lowering and kicking out of his briefs.

Yeah, Zach is absolutely going to enjoy this. Not that there had been much doubt.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes. “Come let me appreciate.”

Chris wastes no time leaping onto the bed and crawling right on top of him. All that lovely lovely skin really makes Zach wish he had a much, much larger tongue.

Chris groans, adorably shocked, at the sensation when their cocks rub together as he’s lying down on Zach. He gives an experimental rock of his hips and repeats the sound, a little higher now. He looks up, blue eyes bright, clearly stunned.

It’s so hard to resist teasing him, but Zach’s pretty sure it wouldn’t go down well right now. So he runs his hands down Chris’s back instead, fills his hands with that wonderful ass, and guides him into moving just so. Chris’s breath catches, and his eyelids flicker closed.

“You like that, huh? You wanna frot?”

Chris makes a strangled sound in his throat and squirms delightfully.

“Okay. I’m gonna roll on top, so I can—” But Chris doesn’t appear terribly capable of processing language right now, so Zach figures actions will have to speak louder. He rolls them with an effort because Chris isn’t all that useful right now. Then he reaches into the drawer by the bed for lube, because a smoother slide seems like a good idea for a first time frot. Chris actually _whines_ when Zach’s lube-slick hand rubs over his dick. Usually, it takes rather more demonstration of actual skill on Zach’s part before someone is putty in his hands, but he isn’t about to complain.

Zach leans down for a kiss, swallows a moan not his own as he begins to move, rubbing his cock against Chris’s, overflowing with triumph and pleasant disbelief at having his formerly off-limits pal all naked and hot for him. Chris’s kisses have grown greedy, and his hands roam ceaselessly as if he can’t decide what part of Zach is most clutch-worthy. It’s fantastic, not just the rub of cocks but his awareness of their balls, their pubic hair (his trimmed, Chris’s wild), the constant brush of his chest hair over the smooth chest beneath.

He focuses on getting Chris off, responding to his every little tell like the best bridge player, doesn’t permit himself to be sidetracked by the tempting length of Chris’s neck when he breaks the kiss to pant harshly, fingers digging hard into Zach’s shoulders.

Chris mewls and swears, bucking, in the moments before he comes. Zach ignores the urge to pause to suck his mark into that lovely skin, and simply lets go with a couple of last thrusts and a groan of _Chris_.

“Huh,” Chris says, tapping on Zach’s back to get his attention.

Zach lifts his head with an effort. “What?”

“We’re, um, kinda sparkling?”

Zach blinks, then shifts off Chris and goes up on his knees for a better look.

It’s subtle, not blazingly obvious in daylight, at any rate, but Chris’s whole body is sparkling as if he’s been dusted with very fine glitter and lit by shifting lights. Zach inspects one of his own arms, then the other. Same thing.

“It only happened when you came,” Chris offers helpfully. “Well, yours did, anyway. Dunno when I started.”

“Huh. Huh, indeed.”

There really isn’t that much more to say about the phenomenon, so they just cuddle in the aftermath. Chris seems a trifle uncertain, but he also has an iron grip.

“We should go clean up,” Zach has to point out, eventually. “You want the first shower?”

Chris shakes his head. “No, I… I could use a minute to think, man.”

Zach offers him a small smile and a quick kiss, and then Chris releases him.

From the doorway, Chris appears to own the whole bed. Zach’s smile at that is internal, but bright.

***

By the time they’ve showered and started thinking about going out for lunch, the _Twilight_ vampire effect seems to have worn off. Zach wonders idly whether it’ll come back every time they fuck. That would be… well, _fascinating_ , as Spock might say.

***

Zach wakes tangled in Chris to the sound of his ‘Joe’ ringtone. He fumbles about for his phone while Chris protests either the noise or the flailing which may just possibly have resulted in an uncomfortable connection of Zach’s elbow with some softer portion of his anatomy. Zach finds the phone, accepts the call, feels happier when he brings it to his ear and the painfully bright screen switches itself off.

“Joe? Time’s it?”

“Apparently, it’s community outreach day for sweet sparkly fairies. Of the more mystical, less fabulous, vertically-challenged variety.” Joe’s voice is soft, cautious, as if he’s trying not to be overheard by someone very nearby.

Zach groans. “Kibby’s there, isn’t she?”

“And a blue one, I didn’t catch his name.”

“Andin.”

“I’m not sure, but I think they’re wanting my help to plan your wedding.”

Zach is speechless for some time. Beside him, Chris is huffing in a way that says he heard quite clearly but is too indignant to manage coherent comment right now. “They’ve fixated on Chris, I suppose?”

Joe snorts. “Who else? They want me to get you both to Pittsburgh under false pretences to surprise Mom.”

It’s impossible not to picture that particular disaster. “Well, it sure as hell _would_ be a surprise.” Mystical creatures and gay marriage in one showy event? And the fairies don’t even wear clothes? She’d flip her lid. “Though they might play invisible, I suppose. Do I need to get over there right away?” He smothers a yawn. Decides he’s really not in any fit state for this. Not before coffee, anyway. “Listen, ask them not to make any decisions until I’ve spoken with them. I’ll visit the ring in the morning.”

There’s a pause while his brother relays this information. “Yeah, okay, they seem happy with that. They want you to bring Chris, though.”

“Ooh, goody,” says Chris. He seems to mean it.

Zach glares in his general direction in the dark. “Will do. Sorry if my friends woke you. I’ll call later, all right?”

“Yeah. Nighty-night, little bro.”

“Night.”

Zach hits the button to kill the screen as soon as it lights up again, shoves his iPhone under his pillow. Wonders what the hell to say.

“It’s kinda like having fairy godparents,” Chris muses. “Hey, they’re not gonna, I dunno, present us with a changeling child and expect us to raise it or anything?”

Zach scoffs. For about a second. Then he thinks about it. And… _Shit._ Getting back to sleep now seems a rather remote possibility. “I think we’d better get down there as soon as it’s light.”

“Okay,” Chris says, and yawns. “Time for a quick blowjob first? I’d kinda like to try, you know, on you. If you didn’t, uh, mind. ‘Cause I really, uh, yeah.”

Zach is really not sure what’s happened to his life lately. Whatever it is, it’s shaken things up in all kinds of unpredictable ways. Case in point: Horny. Chris. Pine. In his bed.

“Cover your teeth,” is all he says, as he lifts the comforter so Chris can disappear under it.

***

They have to sit for several minutes beneath the old tree before anyone deigns to come down and meet them. Zach knows this is probably because he’s radiating bad vibes, sitting here with his arms tightly folded and his jaw set, but for once he can’t seem to find the calm place inside and just fucking _chill_. Chris, of course, is brimming with near-tangible excitement, unable to sit still, like a kid who’s just been told Mom’s taking him to Disneyland. Every time he licks his lips, Zach gets a spike of lust and memory and his bad mood wavers.

At length, one of the younglings flutters down out of the tree to stare at them, brown eyes huge in her pinkish face.

“Hello,” Chris says, and the little one jumps.

“Have Andin and Kibby returned?” Zach murmurs.

The little fairy clicks an affirmative. Zach reaches out, and she comes to him, stepping onto his palm and allowing him to lift her onto his knee. “Are they avoiding us?” he whispers.

The fairy chuckles and promptly covers her mouth. She’s putting off tiny, bright surges of magic, and he wonders whether Chris is consciously aware of them. “Friend Zach’s kinsman left them with much to think about,” she offers at last, still hiding her mouth.

“I’ll bet.”

“I will ask them to attend you,” the fairy announces proudly. Zach feels the quick pressure against his leg as she pushes off, leaping high into the air and flapping her wings to maintain the upward momentum.

Kibby, when she arrives, looks appropriately sheepish. “It was supposed to be a surprise!”

“Oh, I’m surprised, all right,” Zach mutters.

“It was a lovely thought,” Chris puts in, turning on the charm. “But I think Zach and I and our moms and my sister would be sad if they didn’t get to help plan the wedding. And I worry that it’s too soon for us to be planning any weddings. Also, no one in my family even knows about you guys. It’d be a bit of a shock, showing up for an extremely short-notice wedding and then finding, well, magical creatures there too.”

Kibby looks crestfallen. She actually slumps to the ground, crosses her legs like a small child, and rests her face in her hands. “We just wanted to do something nice. You and Friend Zach are so _happy_.”

Zach sees an opportunity there. “Exactly, Kibby. And you’ve helped to make us happy. But you wouldn’t want us to explode from too much happiness, would you?”

She frowns at him, as if testing the veracity of his statement. “How much is too much?” she asks suspiciously.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in years.” And that’s the truth, it really is. “I think I’d need to work up slowly if I was going to cope with anything more.”

Kibby, unbelievably, seems to buy this. He’s sure that Chris’s air of calm agreement helps, too.

***

It’s a relief to escape from the woods, with the wedding hopefully called off.

“Glad that’s over,” Chris says, just as they’re coming in sight of the car.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t think either of us is _quite_ ready for marriage.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, Zach?”

“Christopher?”

“I don’t want to alarm you, man. But just wait till you meet _my_ friends…”

 

 

***END***


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